The Puppeteer
by John Daily
Summary: UPDATED! This classic ER fanfic, featuring the cast from season 7, finally gets the treatment and finale it deserves. Summary: Dave Malucci is abducted. Beyond that, I don't want to give anything away! :D Please R & R.
1. Into The Cold

Title : The Puppeteer  
Author: John Daily  
Archive : Please ask first.  
Rating : PG-13 for language and violence  
Main Characters: John Carter, Dave Malucci

_Disclaimer: _ER and its characters and trademarks are owned by Warner Bros, NBC and Constant C Productions. Chicago Hope is a trademark of David E. Kelley Productions (No, this is _not_ a crossover). However, the characters of Tareyja Gonçallvez and Rui and Costança Nunez are mine. This is a not-for-profit story. I was just bored and had nothing better to do with my time. Summary: Dave Malucci is abducted. Beyond that, I don't want to give anything away! :-)

_Author's Comments:_ Ok...here it is. My first full length actual honest-to-god-has-a-plot-and-everything ER FanFic, featuring the cast from season 7. Please read and review, but be gentle with me. I can take (in fact, I _invite_) any comments or criticisms you may have - except flames. I hope you enjoy it!

Thanks to Cathy Roberts for being a most patient and tolerant editor. Also, Thanks go to my friend and brother, Tim Atkins, for double checking my medical terms and usage. If there's a mistake here, it's mine. If it all works, thank him. :-)

Oh...and please forgive my Portuguese. It's from a web translation service, so I'm sure it's not accurate.

**"The Puppeteer" **

**Chapter One - Into The Cold **

"You're kidding me - is that snow?" Dave Malucci looked wide eyed as he watched John Carter shake off in the lounge.

"Sure is," the doctor replied. "Just started about a half hour ago, but it's coming down pretty hard." He walked across the room and poured a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table next to Malucci, who was busy tying on a boot. "Good thing you came prepared."

"Yeah, well, I figured it'd start soon; I was just hoping it wouldn't. Just once I'd like to have a green Christmas." Dave tucked in his pants leg and begin pulling on the other boot. "You're pulling a late shift?"

Carter sighed. "Yep. I don't like 'em, but Kerry says we all have to start doing them once a month. How was the action today?"

Dave grew excited at the question. "You're never gonna believe this! Here it is late October and we got this wacko today who decided to mow his lawn, right? The grass hasn't grown in weeks! Anyway, he's mowing his lawn and he accidentally slices off a finger."

Carter smiled to himself as Malucci became animated while telling the story. "Ok...so?"

"It wasn't his."

Carter had to keep from spitting coffee back out. "What - do you...you mean, it wasn't his _finger_?"

"That's right. He said he was pushing his lawn mower around and all of a sudden he hears this slight grinding sound and little chunks of meat start flying out from under the guard, you know, and..."

"All right, all right, I get the picture." It was hard to make an ER doctor queasy, but Malucci could do it. "So if he didn't cut off his own finger, then why'd he come here?"

"Well, apparently his neighbor's dog started going bonkers. I mean, totally apeshit. The guy shuts down the mower and hears this incredible barking, looks up and BAM!" Malucci slammed a fist into his palm for effect. "This freakin' Doberman from next door leaps over the fence and lands right on his chest."

Carter looked incredulous. "It attacked him? How badly?"

"Chewed off part of his face. It must have picked up the scent of blood, you know? From the finger. At least, that's what I figure." Malucci sat back in his chair, and stared off into space for a moment. "Sometimes, you just can't control what life is gonna hand you."

John Carter stood up and began removing his coat. "Is he still here?"

Dave stood up as well, and began putting on his own jacket. "Yeah, they admitted him overnight. You'll probably see him on your rounds. Name's Lennon."

"As in John Lennon? Cool."

Malucci grabbed a black duffel bag from the floor and headed out of the room. "Well, I'm late for a date with a hot bath and a porn flick. 'Debbie Does Everyone'. Catch you in the morning."

"Will do," Carter chuckled. He rinsed out his cup and walked out onto the floor. At the front desk he found Mr. Lennon's room number, and headed there.

When he walked in the lights were dim, giving the room and Lennon's bandages an ethereal glow. Carter flipped open his chart, and Lennon stirred.

"Well, Mr. Lennon. Nice to meet you. My name is Dr. Carter. I hear somebody gave you the finger today."

"Not funny, Doc," Lennon replied.

…...

Dave Malucci stepped out into the cold Chicago night. It was surprisingly quiet out here. Maybe he wasn't the only one who felt the serenity of winter's first snow fall; maybe the whole city felt it, too. It calmed a person, made him humble. He pulled his coat tighter around him and walked over to his bicycle. Hopefully he'd be able to ride it most of the way home with no problem. The snow was fine, not thick or wet yet, and the roads looked pretty clear. He leaned over, unlocked the chain and unthreaded it from his spokes. When he stood back up he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and then everything went black.

One hour later, the snow plow came to County General Hospital's ambulance bay, and pushed a foot and a half of new fallen snow over the bike rack, forever erasing the foot prints there and completely covering the blood of David Malucci.


	2. Out Of The Dark

Title : The Puppeteer  
Author: John Daily

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Author's Comments.

**"The Puppeteer" **

**Chapter Two - Out Of The Dark **

Dave Malucci awoke in a cloud of oil. At least, that's what it felt like. Thick and hot, it enshrouded his head and made it difficult to think. He struggled to focus his eyes and his thoughts. Where was he? He was lying prone in the dirt, that much he knew for certain; the copper mud smell permeated his nostrils. Beyond that, he could be sure of nothing. He tried to push himself up and pain exploded all around him.

"I don't think you should do that. Roll over on your back first, ok?"

The voice came from just above him, and he turned over to see a dark young woman squatting next to him. Startled, Dave pushed himself back against a wall, and felt more electricity shooting through his head.

"Shhh...take it easy. I'm your friend." She leaned over and pushed her fingers through his hair. "You're hurt."

"Lady, right now I don't think I have any friends. Where am I?" He brushed her hand away with a sweep of his arm.

"I'm not sure, but I know why you're here." She sat down beside him. "Lean forward so I can look at your head."

Malucci took a closer look at her. She was slender and had huge, brown eyes that were somehow bright in spite of the poor light. He also noticed a cut over her right eyebrow that was about two inches long and angry looking. If he was supposed to fear someone here, she wasn't the one. He tipped his head forward, and she carefully touched her fingers to his skull in tiny increments, moving from top to bottom. She was at the base, where his neck joined his head, when she found the spot. Dave yelled out and jerked away, inadvertently cracking his head against the concrete wall he was leaning against.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she gasped, and grabbed his shoulders in a half hug. "You have a hematoma there, and probably a concussion."

"It's fine." He shrugged her hands off him again. "You're medical?"

"Yes. My name is Tareyja Gonçallvez. I'm a third year med student from Chicago Hope. I was brought here by force earlier last night."

Last night? Malucci suddenly remembered being outside unlocking his bike, and brought his watch up eye level. 4:30 am. He'd been unconscious almost 5 hours. "I'm Dave Malucci. Do you know the people who did this, Tareyja?"

"No, but I've only seen one man. He told me his name is Rui Nunez, and his wife is in labor, so he kidnapped me to deliver the baby."

He gently rubbed the back of his head as he looked at her. "Why didn't he just take her to the hospital? Or call an ambulance?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I tried to talk him into doing that, but he wouldn't listen. He only speaks Portuguese, and I only understand a little from my Grandparents. They came here from Brazil a few years ago."

"So, did you deliver the baby? Why am I here?"

"You're here because of me. I'm flunking out miserably, and I panicked. I could probably deliver it ok, but then what? Would he kill me? I told him I couldn't do it without a real doctor, so..." She looked down at the dirt.

"...he went and got me," Dave finished. "Thanks."

"I'm so sorry." She started to cry. "I just didn't know what to do, and I was scared, and -"

She was interrupted by the sound of a metal door opening and closing, and a man shouting miserably to himself.

"O filho de uma cadela! Eu nao posso acreditar isto! Polícia represada!"

Malucci looked at her as the sound grew closer. "I take it this is him? What's he saying?"

"Yes, it's him. Rui. He's just cursing. Something about the Police."

Dave let out a chuckle in spite of himself. "What, he likes rock music?" He looked at her blank stare, and mumbled, "Never mind." Sometimes, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't help himself. It was like a curse.

A man, not old but weathered, came around the corner. He stood over six feet and held at least two hundred sixty pounds onto his large frame. He watched Malucci try to stand, then fall back against the wall. The man laughed softly, then stood in front of him, far enough away so that Dave couldn't even kick at him.

"Então, estão acordado? Bom. O Costança necessita-o agora. Virá comigo." He held a hand out to Dave, but Malucci turned instead to Tareyja.

"What's he saying now?"

"He wants you to go with him."

"Can you speak any Portuguese?" he asked.

"A little."

"Good. Tell him I won't go without you. You can be my nurse."

The man walked forward two steps and kicked Malucci in the foot. "Venha! Venha!"

"Venha yourself!" Dave yelled. "Hold your horses!"

The girl looked up at Rui and spoke carefully. "Posso vir? Sou enfermeira."

He stood there for a moment considering, then replied. "Sim." Then, as an afterthought, "Mas apressar."

Tareyja stood up and held her hand down to help Dave up. "He says I can come, but we must hurry."

"Of course." Dave looked up at her. She was taller than he had realized. He grabbed her arm and let her pull him up. Leaning against the wall, the oil cloud threatened to take over his head again, then passed.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine. I just need a minute."

Rui grabbed the girl by the arm and tried to pull her away with him."Venha!"

She pushed him off her and snapped, "Um minuto! Machuca-o. Passará para fora logo se nós nao esperamos."

Dave looked at her, and she answered his unspoken question. "I told him he needs to wait because he hurt you."

He nodded and began to look around for the first time. They were in a large room, almost like a loft. He had assumed it was a cellar earlier, but there were boarded up windows he hadn't noticed before. More than likely, these people were squatters. Terrific. He was stuck in some abandoned hole somewhere, and no one even knew he was missing.

…...

John Carter sat down in the lounge for the first time all night. He was exhausted. This was insane, pulling a midnight shift when he normally worked days. Didn't Weaver know it took the body ten days to become acclimated to a new schedule? He rubbed his hands over his face, then turned and looked at the chair Malucci had been sitting in earlier. What a cut up that guy was. He'd make a good doctor someday, if he could just control his mouth and his hormones.

Carter stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee from the bottom of the carafe. It looked more like sludge now. He put it in the microwave, then suddenly laughed out loud. What was it Malucci had said when he was talking about the finger? How you never know what life is going to hand you?

_Hand_ you. "I just got it," he said to no one. He chuckled again.

What a cut up.

…...

"Venha! Vamos agora!" Rui Nunez pulled a gun from the back of his waist and pointed it at Tareyja. Her dark eyes grew even larger.

"Can you walk yet? We should go with him," she pleaded.

He chuckled sarcastically. "You think? Okay." Dave peeled himself away from the wall, and was surprised to find he wasn't as dizzy as he thought he would be. He took a couple of test steps and then turned to the man with the gun. "Hey! Sparky! Is that necessary? I'm here." He pointed to himself with both hands. "Me. Me! Let's go. Vamos!" He couldn't speak Portuguese, but he could speak Spanish and the languages were at least a bit similar. He wondered if he'd be so cocky if the man spoke English.

Rui ushered them both at gunpoint through the room and to the metal door. "Abra-o," he said, motioning with the gun. Dave opened the door, letting in the faint sound of a woman screaming. They all walked through into a corridor, and then came to another metal door which Dave opened. This time the screams were almost deafening. He turned to look at the man - no, this _coward_ who was too afraid even to help his screaming wife. This man who wouldn't even take her to a hospital. This man who had the audacity to hold a gun on an innocent woman.

Rui moved the gun to Dave's side. "Mova," he ordered, and Dave and Tareyja walked through, with Rui closing the door behind them.

Dave stood, unable to believe his eyes. The place was a mess. It was lit with a bare bulb in the center of the room, and there were moldy clothes and wrappers and cartons of all kinds on the floor. Pale, salmon colored wallpaper hung from the walls in strips. In the center of it all was a thin, bare cot on which a very pregnant woman was crying agonizing sobs. He looked at Tareyja. "You've seen her before and yet you _left_ her like this?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No. I wouldn't go with him at all. This is the first time I've even been in here."

Malucci studied her face a moment, and believed her. He wondered if she knew just how much trust she radiated? Possibly that was why this guy had taken her in the first place. Cautiously, he walked to the center of the room where the woman lay screaming, sensing Tareyja at his side. He looked down at the cot between the woman's legs, and felt his heart sink into his stomach.

It was black with blood.


	3. The Puppet and The Puppeteer

Title : The Puppeteer  
Author: John Daily

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Author's Comments.

**"The Puppeteer"**

**Chapter Three - The Puppet and The Puppeteer**

Tareyja Gonçallvez looked down at the wet patch between the pregnant woman's legs. "What is that?" She asked Malucci. "Is that amniotic fluid?"

Dave leaned over and touched it with his fingers. What he wouldn't give for a box of gloves right now. He wouldn't even care if they were powdered or not. The liquid was thinner than blood, which relieved him tremendously. He had originally thought she was bleeding out because the mattress between her legs was so dark; but he had forgotten that any liquid would make fabric darker. "Yes, it's her fluids." He turned to Tareyja. "We need to find out how far along she is. What do you know about the birth process?" He thought he'd see just how badly she was flunking out.

"Birth process," she repeated as she tried to recall the important facts. "There must be 10 centimeters dilation and full effacement for the birth to take place." She still looked nervous, but pleased with her response.

"Can a delivery take place without those things?"

She looked horrified at the thought. "I'm not sure - yes - I don't know. It'd be dangerous for the mother and the baby, wouldn't it?"

"Relax, Tareyja. You're doing fine." Dave started to ask another question, when the woman on the table began to scream again. Panicked, Dave looked at her, then back at Tareyja. "What did you say her name was?"

She hadn't thought to ask. "I'm not sure," she said and then turned to face the man with the gun who watched with anxious eyes from across the room. "O que é seu nome?" He was perspiring heavily, and she watched a small tremor move throughout his body.

"Costança," he answered while taking a few tentative steps toward them. "Costança Nunez."

Dave leaned over the woman and spoke gently but firmly into her ear. "Costança, I don't know if you can understand me or not but my name is Dave Malucci, and I'm going to help you. Mi nombre es Dave. Usted entiende?"

She whimpered a bit. He wasn't sure if that was in response to him or her pain, but he turned back to Tareyja.

"Go grab some of those clothes over there on the floor. We're going to put them under her lower back to help with the contractions and elevate her hips a bit."

She looked at the molding clothes. "You want - "

"Tareyja, I know what they're like, but we don't have much time here." God, how could he have not noticed the incredible stench of urine in here before? He tried to take his mind off it by imagining her naked instead.

"Sorry." She walked over and pulled a few heavy shirts and a large pair of sweatpants from the tattered carpet. They gave a soft sucking sound as they came off, as if they had grown into the rug. She handed them to Malucci and he leaned over to Costança and began speaking in even tones to her again. He tried to smile, but that was a bit more difficult, given the circumstances.

"I'm going to lift your back up a bit Costança, so you'll feel a little better. Can you help me? I just want to slide this under." He balled the clothes up and placed his hands gently on her hips and  
began to lift.

There was a furious yell from Rui, and he was across the floor like a bull. Tucking his head down into his shoulder, he slammed into Dave full force, knocking them both across the room and onto the floor in a heap. "A parada!" he was screaming. "A parada! Não!"

Tareyja ran after them, yelling at Malucci. "Stop it! He wants you to stop!"

"What the hell did I do?" Dave yelled back while he tried to kick Rui off. The man was beating him with fists that felt like lead, and still screaming "A parada!" Suddenly, Rui's face presented itself, and Dave tipped his head back and butted against Rui's skull with everything he had. What the hell; his own head felt like a meatloaf now anyway.

Rui gave a surprised yell, rolled off him, and curled into a ball. Dave was assuming his own fetal position, while cradling his forehead with both arms.

Between them both lay the gun.

"Dave!" Tareyja shouted, but Dave was trying to fight back the darkness that was trying to close over him. She ran across the room and tried to grab the gun, but Rui heard her coming and blindly swept a meaty arm out to trip her. She hit it and went flying onto Malucci with a grunt.

Rui sat up and wiped blood from his eyes. There was an open gash across his head like a third eyebrow. He leaned over and snatched the gun as Dave and Tareyja untangled themselves. He waved it in their direction and spoke quietly, but his tone was dead serious. "Você nao toca seu mais. Só a menina."

"He said," Tareyja began.

"I don't give a shit what he said," Dave interrupted. "That woman will die before I help this lunatic." He stood up and leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

"You don't mean that. You _can't_ mean that!"

"Try me." He looked up at her, meaning to stare her down and show her the strength of his will, but was stopped cold by the power of her eyes. She was questioning _everything_ about him- his integrity, his strength, his honor, his morals- without speaking a word. And was there more too, that wasn't being spoken? What else was she thinking?

He sighed in exasperation and lowered his eyes from hers. "All right. What did he say?"

She smiled wide and kissed him on the cheek. "He said only I was allowed to touch her."

"Terrific," Dave replied. "Like we needed anything else to make this more difficult than it already is." He walked back over to Costança, and Tareyja followed. "We need to find out how much she's dilated. Can you do that?" He looked around the room and saw that Rui had returned to a far corner holding the gun on them both.

"Yes, but how do I measure her?"

Malucci thought for a moment. "Make a fist." He made one of his own and held it up next to hers. Hers was smaller, but not as delicate as he would have thought. "Okay, the width of your fist is just about ten centimeters."

"Fine," she said and spoke softly to Costança in broken Portuguese while she gently pried apart the woman's legs.

While Tareyja studied Costança, Malucci studied their captor. Rui was a solid man, but he looked tired. Physically and emotionally beaten. Dave could see it in his face. Not just leathered, it looked _traveled_; each line was a tire-spun rut in a muddy road. He didn't think Rui could stand up much longer, let alone fight. In time, Dave felt he could turn this whole situation around.

"I'm not certain, but I think she's around seven or eight centimeters," Tareyja called.

"Can you pin it down more? The difference between seven and eight centimeters is the difference between Active Labor and Transitional Labor. If she's in Trans, the baby's coming."

"Dave," she said, waiting for him to turn so she could make eye contact, "I'm using my _fist_ to measure."

He felt foolish. "Right...sorry. Can you tell if she's fully effaced yet?" There was a pause, then he heard her mutter something nearly unintelligible under her breath.

"Not without a flashlight or some scuba gear."

Costança cried out again, and Dave saw her bear down on the cot. "No, no, no, no, no!" he yelled while rushing to her side. He started to put his hand on her arm, then pulled away quickly when he remembered Rui. "Tell her she can't do that yet. Tell her not to push."

"Nao empurrar, Costança. Só respiração." Turning to Dave, she said, "I told her just to breathe."

"Não! Eu não posso!" Costança cried out.

"Shhh...Só respiração," Tareyja repeated, and in a moment the contraction had passed.

"We need to find out how effaced she is," Dave said. "Can you see any part of the baby yet?"

Tareyja struggled in the poor light. "No, but I don't know if I could see it even if it was waving at me from her cervix."

Christ, what now? Malucci looked over and saw Tareyja had moved to the head of the cot and was stroking Costança's thick, sweat soaked hair. He strained for a solution. Where was the Chief when you needed her? How would Carter act in a situation like this? Probably not cowering in a corner letting a third year resident do his job. He'd stand up for himself and save this woman, regardless of the cost. And why shouldn't he do the same? He was a Malucci, and there was at least one Malucci who had been tough. There was at least one Malucci who hadn't taken any crap from anybody, especially him. Why shouldn't he be the same? All this time, Dave thought he had been taking an active stance against violence, but maybe he had just been weak all along. Was that it? Was he still a little boy? Was he still afraid?

All right then, he had decided. He needed to be strong.

He ignored Rui and walked to foot of the cot. "We've got to find out where we're at so we can deliver this baby."

"Dave, no," Tareyja started.

"Sorry about this, Costança," Malucci said and then slipped two fingers inside her.

He was on the floor before the pain exploded in his chest. The wind had been knocked out of him and he couldn't breathe, and then Rui was at his side, kicking him in the stomach.

"Não!" Tareyja was screaming to Rui, but she didn't think he could hear her in his rage.

Malucci was curling himself inward, trying to fend off the blows, but then Rui would step over him and start kicking him in the kidneys. The pain was becoming unbearable, and Dave felt consciousness slipping away. Rui kicked him once more for good measure, then pushed him onto his back, squatted on his chest and shoved the gun into Malucci's left eye.

"O toque seu novamente, e morre," he said and then looked at Tareyja for the translation.

She began to sob. "He said, 'Touch her again and you die.'"


	4. Carter Takes Control

Title : The Puppeteer  
Author: John Daily

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Author's Comments.

**"The Puppeteer"**

**Chapter Four - Carter Takes Control**

John Carter looked at his watch with what was almost lust. 6:00 am, and only one hour left to go. How he was going to be back the following day was beyond him. Should he sleep a few hours this morning and then wait until tonight after work to get the remainder of his rest? Should he just sleep twelve hours and then try to bulldoze his way through tonight and tomorrow with maybe a little nap on his break? Whatever way he did it, it was still going to be difficult. He was sitting with his chin in his hands, elbows to his knees and nearly dozing when he heard a familiar voice.

"What the hell are you doing in Chairs?"

Startled, his elbows slipped off, and he almost tipped the seat over. The voice started to laugh and he looked up, although he didn't really need to. "Hi Haleh."

"Caught you napping, didn't I?" she chuckled.

Carter stood and stretched. "Kind of. Do you always come in this early?"

"Every day. Somebody has to make the coffee around here. I swear you people always leave one drop in the pot and don't ever bother to run a fresh one." She started for the lounge, and John followed.

"I'm afraid I'm guilty as charged," he said, holding up his hands in a mock handcuffed pose. "Drank the last of it a couple of hours ago, but it was already old and cold. Does that mean I can't have a cup?"

Haleh gave him one of her heavy, melodic laughs. "I'll make you some. You look like you could use it."

He put his arms down and they walked into the lounge. "You've got _that_ right."

Haleh started running the water to get it cold, and began measuring coffee into a filter while she waited. "Lot of action in here last night, I take it?"

Carter sat down at the table, and resumed his position of chin in hands. "Hardly anything at all, just a few minor traumas. That was the problem. It made the night drag for...ev...er."

"I know what you mean," she said, pouring the water into the top of the coffee maker. "I used to work as a Security Guard, believe it or not. Many, many, _many_ years ago. Did the graveyard shift at Woolworth's."

"Really?" Carter was intrigued. "I guess I can picture that," he said, and he could. Haleh could be tougher than Romano when she wanted to be.

"Uh-huh. Longest week of my life," she said, and he burst out laughing.

"That's it? Only a week?" he asked.

"Uh-huh. That's all I could take. It was lonely, boring work." She flipped the coffee maker on and sat down next to Carter. "All night long all I did was stare at these little black and white monitors. Once a night, around 3 am, I'd take a walk around the place. That was it. Mindless work. Even the paperwork was boring."

"I guess it would be." He stretched once more and felt a bit better. He was starting to get his second wind.

"Now _this_ place," Haleh continued while gesturing with her hands, "is something else entirely. You're all _nuts_ here. I wouldn't trade this for the world."

Carter laughed.

"No, really. You with your shyboy routine, Kerry hobbling around snapping at everyone like a mini-Romano, Malucci always playing practical jokes -" She stopped as she realized she hadn't seen him yet. "Speaking of Malucci, where is he?"

Carter looked at his watch. "He'll be along. You know Dave, he usually doesn't get here until the last minute."

"Did he have a flat tire or something?"

"You mean his bike? Not that I know of. Why?

"Oh. I just assumed he was here all night with you. I passed his bike when I came in," she said.

"That's odd," Carter said. "I watched him leave last night. He must have walked home."

They sat in silence for a moment. "Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed, startling John. She jumped up from her seat, went to the counter and returned a moment later with a box.

"Want a donut?" she asked.

…...

"Good night," Carter called to Randi as he walked by the front desk. "I mean, good morning."

She put down the pack of chewing gum she'd been opening. "I wouldn't leave just yet if I were you. Kerry's looking f-"

"Carter! Stop!"

"Too late," Randi finished, and popped a stick of gum into her mouth.

John Carter slumped where he stood. His body ached from fatigue, and he just wanted to go home. He turned to see Kerry Weaver moving toward him as quickly as she could which, at this point, was pretty fast in spite of her brace. He gave a half hearted smile. "Good morning, Kerry."

"You can't leave," she said, catching up to him. "Malucci isn't here yet and we're short staffed."

He stood in disbelief. "You're _mandating_ me after I worked an adjusted shift? Can't you get anyone else to come in?"

"Not at the moment, and you're already here."

"This is ridiculous." He looked at Randi who just looked back and shrugged. "Have you tried calling him at home yet?"

"We've done that and there's no answer. He's probably on his way in."

"Well then I can leave, since he's already coming." He started to walk away.

Weaver's face grew crimson. "Carter! You're staying until he comes in."

Carter whipped around. "May I remind you, Kerry, that, per _your _instructions, I worked all night last night and, also per your instructions, that I am scheduled to be in here _again_ at three pm. Meaning that if Malucci doesn't show up at all, I'm stuck here for twenty-four hours straight which, I'm pretty sure, is illegal."

She waved her hand at him. "You've done it before."

"Only during a major trauma."

"You're _staying_, Carter!" she yelled, and then silently cursed herself for having lost control. When she started again, it was with restraint. "You know what? I shouldn't have to explain myself to you. I am the supervisor and you are the employee. I'm going to chalk up your insubordinant tone to being overtired. Now, we will try to find you some relief but, for the moment, you are here." Kerry Weaver turned without waiting for a reply and walked away.

Carter gave a scream in his throat and slammed his hands down on the front desk. Randi looked up at him and blew a bubble.

"Ouch," she said.

Carter stifled what he wanted to say to her and instead asked, "Can you try Malucci again?"

"I can try, but I'm just going to get the same results."

"Well try anyway, please," he said. "Let me know, ok? I'm going out for a smoke." He walked off, leaving Randi in mid-bubble as she reached for the phone.

Carter stepped out into a clear, cold day and paused for a moment to breathe in the first air in hours that didn't smell medicinal. He chuckled to himself at the irony of wanting a cigarette amidst all this fresh air, then lit one anyway. He was standing like that, hands stuffed in pockets and cigarette hanging from his mouth, when his eye caught the bike. Not quite knowing why he was doing it, he walked over and began kicking the snow away from the rack. It was only a half minute before he had uncovered a length of metal wrapped in hard red plastic. It was the chain. Curious, and with a sense of urgency coming over him although he didn't know why, Carter reached down and began pulling it from the snow. It came easily, and completely. He held up both ends of the unlocked chain in each hand and stared at them. He was doing this, realization just beginning to dawn, when the familiar voice came from behind him.

"Break time is over. There are patients in here who need to be seen."

"Kerry," he said, turning, "I think we should call Security."


	5. Cutting The Strings

Title : The Puppeteer  
Author: John Daily

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Author's Comments.

**"The Puppeteer" **

**Chapter Five - Cutting The Strings **

This was so screwed up. Even though he saw unspeakable horrors day in and day out in the ER, there was still a stubborn part of David Malucci, a part that refused to believe that people could be responsible for such atrocities to each other. Unfortunately, the pain he was feeling bore proof to the contrary. He was struggling not to cry - he could feel Tareyja's eyes upon him - but the pain was almost unbearable, even while sitting against the wall as he was now.

Tareyja walked over, crouched beside him and put her head near his. Their cheeks were touching, and her mouth was almost rubbing against his ear. "We're going to get through this, you know," she whispered, and her tears began to flow down his face as if they were his own.

"I know," Dave said, but he wasn't so certain. If they actually delivered this baby, what then? How could Rui let them both live after holding them at gunpoint all night? Unbelievably, death was no longer something Malucci feared. He didn't welcome it either, but at least he had come to accept it as the most likely outcome. No, what he feared most was what would happen to them after he and Tareyja were dead. This man couldn't just leave them here; he would have to find a place to dump the bodies. Someplace where, quite probably, they would never be found. That was what scared him most of all.

Malucci jumped suddenly and gasped out a startled "Stop!" Tareyja had tried to pull him closer to her, and pain flared in his side. "I think my ribs are broken," he said. "It's hard to breathe."

She looked around the room for something to wrap him with. "We're going to have to tie something around you to help keep the swelling down."

He didn't relish the thought; it was going to hurt like hell. "I know," he said.

Tareyja got up and came back a minute later with an old rag of a blanket that had been worn to the point of almost being sheer from too many years of use by too many street people. Once it might have been a bright, cheerful color; now time had turned it dull and gray. "Lean forward so I can put this around you."

Dave gritted his teeth, took as deep a breath as he could without screaming in pain, and pulled himself up a bit. She slid the blanket behind him, helped to gently ease him back and took his hands in hers. "Dave, I have to pull this tight across your ribcage. Let me know when you're ready."

He nodded for her to go ahead, then suddenly snapped, "Wait!" He bunched up his shirt over his left shoulder, then bit down into the fabric. Knowing this was as ready as he was ever going to be, Tareyja grabbed the blanket from behind and pulled it across him as hard as she could. His back arched involuntarily, and he let out an agonized scream around the cloth in his mouth. Not wanting to prolong his anguish any more than she had to, and silently praying she wouldn't puncture one of Malucci's lungs, she pulled his body quickly forward and double knotted the blanket as best she could behind his back.

Dave heard another scream mixed in with his own, and realized Costança was beginning another contraction. He almost didn't care. Attending to her would simply mean hurrying along his own inevitable demise.

"Are you okay?" Tareyja asked, gently easing him back against the wall.

"Yeah, I think so. Just give me a minute to catch my breath."

Tareyja looked around the room. Rui had retreated once again to his corner, but he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. The gun was resting in his lap, although he still held on to it with both hands. Their eyes met, and she could see the perpetual anger in them, but she could see something softer behind it now. Fear? Regret? She wasn't sure. She watched, stunned, as Rui averted his eyes from hers. What did _that_ mean?

"I want to get up," Dave said, startling Tareyja from her thoughts. "Can you help me?"

She nodded silently, stood, then reached down so he could grab her arms.

"You should lift with your legs and not with your back," he said, reaching up and taking hold. "I take it you don't deal with many invalids."

"Quiet down and pull yourself up," she scolded. She wasn't upset with him exactly; she just wanted him to conserve his energy.

"Well, _excuse_ me," he mumbled, and the way he said it made her think of the comedian Steve Martin back when he had made that movie "The Jerk." Strange, the places your mind took you when you didn't want to be where you were. She had dated an intern at Chicago Hope who had laughed forever at that film. Maybe it was a guy thing. Now, Martin made more artistic films, love stories with a message, the kind of movie she would rather see. Guys didn't want messages force fed to them though, usually a simple action flick or comedy was what they were interested in. She didn't get it.

Tareyja's footing slipped, causing Malucci to yell out in pain, and bringing her back to reality. She scolded herself for drifting. She had Dave and Costança to think about; she couldn't just block everything out when they needed her to be alert. For a second she didn't think he was going to be able to stand at all, but together they managed to get him up. He leaned against the wall and she supposed he felt a bit better now that his trunk was extended instead of slouched, as it had been when he had been sitting.

They were standing close to each other now, face to face. Tareyja watched Dave carefully for signs of impending unconsciousness, but couldn't help noticing other things as well. She wanted to focus on how dilated his pupils were and instead found herself lost in his eyes. She wanted to notice his muscle tone, to make sure he wasn't going lax and instead could only notice how firm he was. This man had been through a lot in front of her tonight and he was standing here in front of her now, beaten but not broken. She let her body sway a little closer to him, her arms brushing his, not even realizing how attracted to him she had become.

"Tareyja," he began, "delivering this baby is important, but we need to do something about R -"

She immediately shushed him. "Don't say his name! He'll know we're talking about him." She was absent-mindedly tracing her fingertips lightly up and down his forearms.

"I thought I could take him out earlier, but I don't think I can do it alone anymore. If we wait until the baby is born, he'll kill us."

Her fingers stopped tracing. She knew he was right of course, had known it for a while now, but hearing him voice it aloud gave it a new weight that had not been there before. They were going to die if they helped this woman. They stared at each other for a moment, then she felt her body move forward and press softly against his as their lips met. It was long and slow and completely unexpected by either of them.

And it was perfect.

When she finally let her mind pull her body away from his, she almost remained mute for fear any spoken word would break this new bond between them. Time was short however, so she whispered - a bit more huskily than she meant to: "What do you want me to do?"

Dave Malucci smiled for the first time in hours. "What _don't_ I want you to do?"

Tareyja blushed, something her dark skin didn't often show. "You know what I mean." She watched his forehead furrow with concentration for a moment as Dave looked over at the gunman and then back to her. He gave a slight nod in Rui's direction, and Tareyja turned to look. Rui was standing now, the gun raised at her. When their eyes met, for a split second Tareyja swore Rui looked startled but, if he had been, he quickly recovered and waved the gun in Costança's direction, indicating to Tareyja that he wanted her over there. Tareyja's face flushed as she realized he must have seen them kissing, but wondered why he hadn't spoken or tried to stop them. Had he enjoyed it? The thought made her feel uneasy, and she looked back at Dave.

"Damn," he said. " There's nothing here to hit him with, and you're not strong enough to fight him by yourself."

"You hurt him before, though. Maybe he's tired out enough for me to jump him."

Malucci shook his head. "No, you'll just end up getting hurt. There can't be any mistakes. You've got to take him out the first time, and there's only one way I can think of for you to do that."

His look worried her. "What?" She had thought he was going to answer, but instead he leaned forward and kissed her again, a little harder this time. Then he leaned back against the wall and looked at her.

"Do you ever watch wrestling?" he asked.

Costança began to scream again, and Tareyja ran over to hold the suffering woman's hand. She moved her other hand over Costança's belly, trying to assess where the baby was. When the contraction had passed, she looked over at Dave. "We need to do something soon. She's been in labor for hours."

"Do you know what a Sleeper is?" he called.

"No. Is that a wrestling move?" She began to walk toward him, but Rui stood up and walked over to intercept her. He pointed with the gun and said, "Não. Você necessita permanecer com ela." Tareyja moved back to the woman. Somehow she wasn't as frightened of Rui anymore. The idea of putting a plan in place to help themselves had actually empowered her a bit. She smiled at him, and he returned to his usual position, sitting against the wall behind the cot.

"Kind of," Dave answered. "The idea is to cut off circulation to the brain by applying simultaneous pressure to the carotid and jugular. It can be very dangerous, though. If you hold it too long, he could die. You just want to do it long enough to knock him out."

She couldn't believe he was asking her to do this. How was she going to control Rui? He outweighed her by at least eighty pounds and he had a gun. She was thin and gangly, and couldn't even handle a trach tube properly. Even if she _could_ overpower him, what if she killed him? Hell, what if he killed _her_?

Dave must have sensed her concerns, because he answered her unspoken questions. "Tareyja, this is the only way. If we don't do this we're dead, and since we can't deliver the baby before we take care of -" His heart caught in his throat. In his impatience to get Tareyja to agree, he had almost said Rui's name. Dave took a deep breath, then continued. "Since we can't deliver the baby before we take care of _him_, that means Costança's dead and that baby's dead."

She lowered her head, knowing he was right again. That didn't make her decision any easier though, if she even had a choice. When she raised her eyes he was taking slow, labored steps toward the cot. Once he had made his way to her, he stood silently, watching her. Studying her. She sighed, wondering what he was thinking. Would he be upset if she refused? It was her fault, after all, that he was here. She had been too scared to be here by herself. She had known that, for her, there was no way out of this situation alive, so she had asked – no, _demanded_ - that Rui bring a doctor. In truth, the profession hadn't mattered, so long as _somebody_ else was here with her. And look who Rui had brought - a young, handsome, educated man who, by all means, should be furious with her yet, for some reason, was as concerned for her as he was for the woman in labor. More so, even. So how could she refuse? "How are we going to do this?" she asked him.

Dave smiled and kissed her forehead. "I'll take care of it. You just be ready when I tell you, okay? You're going to come up behind him and wrap one arm around his neck, then grab your wrist with your other hand and squeeze for all you're worth. Don't let go until you feel his body relax."

Tareyja nodded, feeling queasy. This had _nothing_ to do with who she was, or wanted to be. God willing, they could put this behind them soon. Trying to keep her mind focused, she walked to the foot of the cot and checked Costança again. What she felt made her nervous. "Dave, I don't think she's dilating any more."

"What, you mean she's stuck at 8 centimeters?" He tried to move closer without alarming Rui. "Damn, I wish I could check her myself."

"You'll just have to trust me. If she doesn't dilate the rest of the way, she's not going to deliver this baby on her own."

His gaze intensified. "Tareyja, it's not that easy. She can still go into active labor, and then we're really in trouble."

"Can you stop it?"

"Back at the hospital, maybe...but not here. Not without magnesium chloride or an I.V. beta-agonist."

Tareyja watched his eyes dart around the room as if he was hoping to find a fully stocked cabinet. "Well we can't just stand here doing nothing. Eventually, that baby's going to start coming whether we want it to or not."

He looked nervously from Rui to her. "All right. Are you ready to do this?"

"Tell me first exactly what you're going to do, so I know what to expect."

Malucci looked at her, but remained silent. It was obvious he didn't want to let her know.

"Dave, we need to work together here!" Tareyja snapped. "Things are already frustrating enough without you trying to protect me."

"Fine!" he yelled, then lowered his voice in shame. He knew he needed to control himself, but the pressure was becoming unbearable. "Look, I'm going to touch her again, and when he rushes me you come up behind him."

She couldn't believe it. Was this bravery or foolishness? Italian machismo? "Are you stupid? He'll kill you this time."

He shook his head. "Not if you knock him out first. He'll probably wind up on top of me again, so that'll work even better. He'll be beating the hell out of me though, so try to hurry, ok?" He gave her a grin, but she doubted its sincerity.

"This is stupid," she repeated, but she had given up. It was time to do something, and she had no better ideas.

Malucci pulled himself as upright as he could, took a deep breath, and walked to the foot of the cot next to Tareyja. "Ready?" he asked.

She wasn't, but she gave him a slight nod anyway.

He threw a brief glance at Rui to make sure he was watching, then moved his hands in between Costança's legs.

"Você filho de uma cadela!" Rui shouted, but he didn't come. Instead he raised the gun.

Malucci had just enough time to yell "No!" before he saw Tareyja's face explode in a sudden burst of crimson. "Jesus Christ!" he screamed and began to reflexively drop, his pain forgotten, as Tareyja hit the floor.

Dave began to panic. This was all his fault. He threw himself onto Tareyja to try and cover her in case more shots were fired, but her body was jerking and it was hard to stay on top. The effort was wasted anyway, because a few seconds later Rui was pulling him off her by his hair and dragging him across the floor. When they stopped moving, Dave rolled over and tried to look up at Rui, but his eyes were filling with tears and it was difficult to see clearly, as if everything had been covered in Vaseline. He watched Rui raise the pistol up over his head by the barrel, watched as Rui's lips moved, but heard nothing except Costança's screams and his own blood pounding in his head. When the gun came down on him he felt nothing except the will to die.


	6. Discovery

Title : The Puppeteer  
Author: John Daily

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Author's Comments.

**"The Puppeteer" **

**Chapter Six - Discovery **

Kerry Weaver huffed her way in from the cold, talking over her shoulder to John Carter. Even with a cane, she was still moving fast enough to make the bottom of her coat flare out with each step. "I think involving Security is a bit drastic, don't you think?"

Carter was keeping up with Kerry, not by some conscious decision, but from habit. He had spent years in this hospital, many countless hours were spent each month just following someone down a corridor while either dictating orders or taking them. Currently, however, he was doing neither. He was immersed in his own thoughts, and hadn't heard a word she'd said. "This is so unlike Dave," he said aloud to himself. "I mean, I know he can sometimes be -"

"I'm sure that they have better things to do than to come down here tracking an AWOL staff member." They had reached the Admitting desk and Kerry leaned against it to face Carter. Randi, either unaware that neither one of them was paying attention to the other, or not really caring, was trying unsuccessfully to pass some charts off to him.

Carter didn't even know she was there. " -a pain, but it's not like him to just not show up for work with no warning. And it's _really _not like him to -"

"An AWOL staff member," Kerry continued, "who has repeatedly shown no concern for the rest of us."

" -just walk off and leave his bike. Unlocked, I might add."

Randi rolled her eyes and slammed the charts down on the counter in front of Carter, startling him from his verbal stream of consciousness.

His eyes began to re-focus from their haze, and he suddenly realized he was looking at Weaver. She was standing there with that somewhat impatient, always expectant look again, her lips thinned and her skin stretched taut. "We have to do something," he said to her.

"You're right, Dr. Carter. We have to do our jobs. Malucci is _my _problem."

"No, I mean something's wrong here. We've got to find him."

"I'll deal with him when he comes in."

Carter looked at the floor, hands in his pockets, shaking his head. Why did she have to be so damned obstinate all the time? Who had hurt her so badly in her past that she had to shove this `tough love' routine down everybody's throats? Why couldn't she just _pretend_ to show a little concern for Malucci? "We need Security, Dr. Weaver. Something's not right; this isn't like him."

"Carter, he's a screwup," she sighed. "He's unreliable and irresponsible, and this is _exactly_ like him."

Carter spoke cautiously. "You may not care for him, Dr. Weaver,"

"Be careful, Carter."

" - but he doesn't just _not_ show up for work without any warning." Carter swept a hand through his dark hair and exhaled exaggeratedly. This was going nowhere and he was certain she wouldn't change her mind with this current tact. He felt he owed it to his missing colleague to keep trying though, so he shifted gears. "What if you're wrong?" He searched her face desperately for a tell, any sign of weakness that he could grab onto and exploit, but her eyes were penetrating and completely unreadable. "Kerry? What if you're wrong about him and something's happened?" She shifted her weight onto the cane, a subtle body cue that she wasn't as certain as she appeared to be. If there was one thing Kerry Weaver hated, it was being indecisive. Carter noticed the movement, knew he had gotten through to her, and moved into high gear. "He's still our coworker. And he's my friend. I can't just sit here and do nothing if he may be in trouble."

There was a long pause while she considered the options. "All right," she finally began, "I'll make you a deal. Give it an hour for him to crawl out of whoever's bed he's sleeping in. If he's not here by - " she glanced at her watch. "Eight-thirty, I'll personally call Security." She gave a quick glance around the lobby and moved a bit closer to him. "Look Carter, it's not that I'm unsympathetic, it's just that I don't want to set off an unstoppable chain of events if he's only overslept."

Carter nodded his head, and allowed himself a small grin of victory. This was as much as he had expected from her, and it was as much as he was going to get. "That sounds completely fair to me," he said.

"Good." She turned her attention to the counter while continuing to speak. "In the meantime, you have patients to see. That should help to pass the time." She grabbed a stack of charts and left him standing there.

Carter turned back to Randi. "You know, if Malucci isn't dead, I'm going to kill him."

Randi emitted a humorless laugh and spread three charts out on the counter in front of Carter. "Pick a card, any card," she said.

He flipped open the aluminum cover on the first chart. "Angela Miller," he said. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Needle seeker," Randi replied. She pulled out a new magazine and began leafing through the pages..

Carter briefly scanned the information, his eyes darting down the page and pausing only on vital lines, as he had done so many thousands of times before. "Oh, yeah; here it is. Non-descript back pain." He tapped a pen on the counter as he tried to recall. "Came in a month or so ago complaining of a sore neck and demanding Demerol, right?"

"That's the one," she said, without looking up.

"Well," he said, flipping the cover back over, "since that's just the sort of crap detail we'd give to Malucci, I guess she's mine."

He tucked the pen into his pocket and backed away from the desk, almost knocking over Abby Lockhart, who was walking by with a tray of sterile instruments.

"Careful!" she growled, dodging him with an adept semi-circle.

`"Hey, you want to assist with a junkie behind Curtain Two?" he asked her.

"Junkies involve needles, and needles involve pricks, correct?"

"I...I guess so," he stuttered, wondering what she was getting at.

"No thanks. I have enough pricks in my life," she said dryly, and she continued pushing the tray toward Trauma One.

Carter chuckled and walked into the room. "Well Ms. Miller, have you made your way through all of the other hospitals already?"

…...

Haleh poked her head through the dividing curtain. "We've got a head trauma coming, and Dr. Greene says we need you."

Carter looked up from the sutures he had been working on. "When and where?"

"They're rolling in now, and Trauma One."

"I'll be right there."

The curtain closed again, and Carter knotted off the last stitch and clipped the extraneous filament. "That ought to hold you for a while," he said to an eight year old boy who was struggling not to cry. "But the next time you decide to play "Iron Chef" you may want to use a butter knife."

The mother smiled sheepishly at Carter. "He likes to help out in the kitchen."

"Well, he's lucky he didn't lose the whole finger. A nurse will be in shortly to explain how to care for the wound, okay?" He walked out and increased his pace to a half-trot as he saw the Emergency Medical Technicians wheeling a gurney in. A debriefing on the patient's condition was going on, but Carter was too far away to hear.

"What've we got?" he asked as they hefted the man from the gurney to a table, a job made easier because of the backboard he was strapped to. Immediately the efficient team of nurses began cutting off the patient's clothes, hanging bags of saline and hooking monitors to him while Carter got himself gloved and gowned.

"Blunt trauma to the head and neck. Probable fractures," Greene answered quickly. "Someone took a steel pipe to the back of his skull." He spoke to the room. "Get the X-Ray unit in here. I want head and C-spine films done - give me lateral and anteroposterior views. Somebody call Radiology and tell them we're sending him over in a few minutes for a CT Scan. Also, call upstairs and tell them to have a surgical team on standby." People all around the table sprang into motion, a chaotic dance with an improvised script. The moves were always the same, but the dance was rewritten dozens of times each day.

Carter moved to the head of the table, taking in at a glance information both vital and trivial; how the man was middle aged, how his forehead was caked with dry, rust colored blood that had started somewhere on his scalp and run down over his head to his face. His skin was pallid, and had a tight, translucent quality that made it obvious to Carter that the man wasn't getting enough oxygen.

Greene began spitting out orders like bullets from a machine gun. "Ok people, give him the usual: CBC, Arterial blood gases, O2 sat levels and cross and type for six," he barked. "Also, we're gonna need a Crit and a Toxicology Panel."

"You think he's on something?" Haleh asked.

"Probably not, but it can't hurt to check." Together, they were working on putting in a central line IV through a hole in a sterile mat that was draped over the patient's chest.

Carter brought out an otoscope and began sweeping the light it emitted across the man's eyes. "Pupils are equal and responsive. Anybody know his name?" All around him staff were shouting out fluid levels and machine-monitored statistics, but no one directly answered him. Carter bent down in front of his patient's face. "Sir? Just try to stay calm. We're going to help you." The man was moaning and struggling weakly against the straps holding him to the board. Carter looked up at Dr. Greene, who was pushing the contents of a syringe into the IV line he and Haleh had established. "Are you worried about brain edema?" Carter asked.

"I've already given him Mannitol," Greene answered. "If anybody's head is gonna swell around here, it'll be mine."

A set of double doors separating Trauma One from Trauma Two burst open, and a technician rushed into the room pushing a portable X-Ray machine on wheels. Immediately all non-essential personnel cleared the room, leaving Mark Greene, Carter and Haleh. The tech handed each of them a lead vest.

Greene was at the man's side, listening for breath sounds through a stethoscope. "Okay Carter, you're gonna need to tube him."

"Shooting," the tech called, and they all stepped away from the table for a moment. A click, then a popping sound was heard as the machine memorized bone.

They moved back into the patient. "I don't suppose we could knock him out, could we?" Carter asked. "It's going to be a bitch getting a tube into him while he's strapped to this backboard."

The tech had finished rearranging the appendages on the machine. "Shooting," he called again, and they all took another step back as another image was taken.

"Not a chance, Carter," Greene replied. "Not until we're certain there are no other systems involved besides neuro. It's too risky."

The tech pulled the films from the base of the machine and collected the lead vests. "Be right back," he said as he wheeled the unit back into the other room.

"Hurry up, we miss you already," Greene called after him.

Carter looked back down at the man, wishing he could intubate without the backboard. He had done it before but, combined with a possible basal skull fracture, it complicated things greatly. He wouldn't be able to tilt the guy's head back enough to get a good channel open, and there was a possibility he could punch through into the brain by accident. As the rest of the staff returned to the room, Carter turned to nurse Chuny Marquez. If he was going to get it done, standing here debating the procedure wouldn`t help any. "Lidocaine, four percent, at five milliliters," he called to her. She handed it to him in a hand-held nebulizer that served to numb the passageway and block the natural gag reflex while he intubated. At one time, years ago, this procedure had terrified Carter; now it was like so much slight-of-hand, impressive to those who didn't understand the magic, but something he barely had to think about anymore. This particular intubation, however, was a bit trickier than most. "Damn, I can`t see in here. Give me a C-blade."

Chuny held up two instruments. "Do you want curvy or super curvy?" she asked.

"Super. Give me the Macintosh, Number 2."

She gave him another laryngoscope, and Carter gave her the one he had been unsuccessful with. He used the new blade to scoop the man's tongue out of the way, so he could thread the tube in more easily.

As he was working, Chuny stared at the man's forehead. "Who put duct tape on him?" she asked.

Carter looked at the thick bands of gray tape encircling the patient's head. and chuckled. He didn't really want to talk while he was trying to concentrate, but he figured if he relaxed just a bit, he might be able to get it in easier. "Pyro must be on duty," he said.

"Who?"

"Pyroman. He must have brought him in." He tried to push the tube past the man's vocal cords while visualizing them in his head.

Chuny was incredulous. "We have an EMT named _Pyroman_?"

"Yeah, we call him Pyro for short, because of his collection of firefighting paraphernalia. He duct tapes all potential spinal cord injuries to the backboard just to be safe. Says masking tape doesn't always stay put."

"Cool," she said.

"Whatever works," Carter shrugged.

A few seconds later he let out a relieved grunt. "I'm in!" He pulled out the thin guide wire and Chuny immediately attached an ambu-bag to the poly tube sticking out of the man's mouth and began squeezing air into his lungs.

The double doors burst open again, and the tech reappeared. "Films are back!" he shouted. Haleh grabbed the manila envelope from him, and pulled out the X-rays as she speed-walked around behind the head of the table. There, she slapped the gray sheets of plastic onto a view screen.

Greene turned away from the table for a moment to study the films. "Alright," he said after a moment of contemplation, "looks like we're okay on the spinal cord and neck, but his head's a mess."

"Good news," Carter said as he undid the straps holding the man to the board. "Sorta, anyway." He cut the duct tape holding the head down, but left the cervical collar around the neck. Almost immediately, the man began emitting low, throaty moans. Carter got close to his face. "Sir? Can you hear me?" Standing back up, he asked, "does anybody have his name yet?"

"When we know it, you'll know it," a disembodied voice called out, probably Haleh's.

The man's head and neck extended back on the table, pushing the collar up toward the ceiling, and his arms and legs began contracting. "He's seizing!" Carter shouted.

"Valium 5 cc's, IV push!" Greene nodded toward him. "Watch that head, Carter. He's got a monster depression back there, and you don't want to make it any worse."

Carter cradled the man's head in his hands, gently enough so that the thick cords of muscle contracting in the man's neck wouldn't bruise or snap, but firmly enough so that his head wouldn't slam against the table. The spasms were powerful though, and Carter had to carefully reposition his hands so that his thumbs were at the back of the skull and his fingers were on each side of the man's head, near his eyes. It was a bit awkward, but it kept his fingers away from the depression the steel pipe had made. He thought he had things under control when the man gave a particularly violent jerk and the head came up out of his hands, then fell back down, impaling itself onto Carter's right thumb. Shock dawned over Carter's face as he felt his thumb sink into the man's skull. "Oh God," he said softly. Then, louder, "I have a comminuted basilar fracture here! His skull is like talcum powder...how the hell is he still alive?"

Greene lifted his eyes up without raising his head. "We don't ask questions, Carter. We just do what we can to fix `em."

"Well, we need to get him off my thumb." He was fairly certain he hadn't broken the skin, but it still felt weird, like it was buried in a ball of warm modeling clay. At least most of the blood that had saturated the man's thick, black hair was dried now. If it had still been wet, there would have been no way to keep his grip on the man's head. "Dr. Greene?" Carter questioned again, his voice quavering slightly.

Mark Greene looked at him in disbelief. "Are you serious?" he asked. "Carter, if his meninges is perforated, you may have just pushed bone fragments into his brain." He moved around to where Carter was holding the head. "Let me have him. Pull your thumb _straight_ out. Slowly." The seizing was slowing down, and Carter backed his thumb out and gently let the man's head fall into Greene's hands.

Mark felt carefully along the back of the skull, feeling for the fresh indentation inside the old one. "All right, here's what we're going to do. As soon as he's stabilized, we're going to move him. That CT scan needs to be done _now_. Who's responding?"

Chuny called out, "I spoke to Benton earlier."

"OK," Greene continued. "Call back and have him and his team meet us in Radiology in about five minutes." The man's seizure had stopped completely, and Mark carefully guided the head back down onto the table. He was about to give everyone the order to transport when the doors leading from the ER into Trauma One opened and Kerry Weaver entered.

"Welcome, Kerry. Join the party," Mark called out.

"Thank you," she answered. "What have you got?"

Greene gave her the stats and added, "We're just about to move him out."

"Well, don't let me stop you," Kerry said as she stepped aside.

"All right people, let's roll," Mark ordered, and the room once again grew busy. This time, Intravenous bags were being re-hung onto stands that were attached to the gurney, and monitor cables and wires were being detached from the patient.

"You want more help?" Carter asked Mark.

"Nah, we got it," he replied.

"Well, let me know what Radiology says, okay?"

"Will do," Greene answered. He took the head of the gurney, and Haleh and Chuny were each on one side as they pushed it through the doors, out into the lobby and, finally, to the elevator.

Carter was packing up the instruments in the room and disposing of used drapes and wrappers, and Kerry tentatively began to help. "How are you holding up?" she asked. "You're looking a bit peaked."

Carter smiled in spite of himself. Was this a genuine note of concern from her, or was she just trying to read him? In either case, the fatigue wasn't that bad; he'd done much longer shifts than this one in the past. Rather, it was the thought of his thumb in the man's skull that was giving him problems. Until Carter found out how the surgery went, and until he was sure he hadn't caused any further injury to the guy, he supposed a peaked appearance would be the norm. He also didn't feel like explaining all of this to Kerry, so he kept his reply simple. "Yeah, a bit," he said.

"Well, it's slowed down again. I can finish restocking the trays if you want to go catch a few winks. This should actually be Housekeeping cleaning up in here, but..." She had snagged a drape with the end of her cane and was trying to lift it from the floor to a trash can without dropping it.

"No thanks, I'm fine," Carter answered. He knew this was her way of apologizing, and he wasn't about to give her any satisfaction. He should have called Security anyway, and was kicking himself for not having done so earlier.

Randi poked her inside the room. "I've got two cops out here. I kept them out as long as I could, but they want to talk to someone."

"They can come in," Kerry said.

A moment later, a large policeman about fifty years old entered with his partner, who looked considerably younger and quite a bit thinner. The older one looked at Weaver and asked, "You work on the guy who had his head bashed in?"

"Um...no, that would be me," Carter interjected before Kerry could speak. It wasn't often one was able to take power away from the ER Chief, so he snatched every available opportunity with gusto. "Why?"

"Is he dead?" the younger cop asked.

"No," Carter replied. "They're still working on him upstairs. What do you guys need? He's in surgery, so you can't take him anywhere."

"No, he's not who we're after," the older one said. "We just need to talk to him. His landlady found him and called us, and when we first arrived on the scene he was kinda lucid, but he wasn't saying much. Just something about a baby."

Kerry Weaver looked over from the supply cabinet where she had been getting a spray bottle of bleach. "Someone killed his baby?"

"No, no, nothing like that, but we weren't sure until we spoke to the Paramedics who brought him here. They told us he started saying more in the rig on the way over."

Carter waited, but the cop was apparently done talking. Already on edge from Weaver's misplaced show of compassion, Carter was really in no mood to be patient. "Like what?" he snapped.

His tone was apparently lost on them all. "Well, allegedly, whoever beat him also took off with his wife-"

"His very _pregnant_ wife," the younger cop added as Mark Greene re-entered the room.

Mark had just wanted to give Carter a little pep talk to try and calm him down a bit, but instead he stood quietly behind the two policemen, intrigued by what he had walked in on.

"Right, his pregnant wife," the older one affirmed. "She was apparently going into labor, and the guy - the one who beat him - wouldn't let him take her to the hospital. Said he was gonna deliver the kid himself, even...what'd that EMT say, Bob?" He turned to the other officer, who was busy flipping pages in a small notebook.

" `Even if he had to kidnap a doctor to do it for him.' " The younger cop looked up. "Say, you ain't missing anyone, are you?" He laughed and elbowed his friend.

The older cop ignored him. "We just want to try and clarify a few things with him, that's all. Find out where this guy might have taken her."

John Carter turned to Kerry Weaver, who was still looking at the two officers with what could only be described as shock. "Well?" heasked her. When he didn't get a reply, he turned to the policemen. "I'm coming with you guys, if you`re going to go look."

Weaver spoke in an even, but slightly shaken, tone. "Um...we may actually be missing someone, a resident named David Malucci. He didn't show up for work this morning. A no call, no show." She paused for a moment, then quickly added, "But he's done things like this in the past, so we assumed it was nothing."

"Well, we should check it out anyway, just to be sure," the older cop said. He took his partner's notebook and leafed to a clean page. "Got an address?"

Kerry hesitated as she tried to sort everything out. Her head was swimming. "Sure. Stop by the front desk and ask Randi for it. I had hoped this would be unnecessary. Malucci is one of those employees who does just enough to eek by. I'm sure you have someone like that in the precinct?"

Carter watched the older cop give a look to his partner that said he couldn't believe this woman's bravado, and felt sick to his stomach. Here Kerry was, backpedaling again in an effort to relieve herself of the responsibility of her error. It was becoming a pattern with her. In fact, the staff were starting to refer to her as "Madame Teflon" because nothing stuck to her. "Let me grab a kit first," he said to the older cop.

Kerry snapped back to her usual vocal self. "You're not going anywhere, Dr. Carter. You're needed here. Let them do their jobs, and you do yours."

Carter had already let the gown slide off, and was peeling off his latex gloves, one thumb inside the cuff of the other so as not to contaminate himself. He ignored Kerry and spoke past her to the man he trusted and respected on the other side of the room. "Dr. Greene, if these guys find Malucci, there's no telling what state he or the woman will be in. They may need on-site care."

"It's not my call, Carter," Greene said.

Carter looked at Weaver. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, but Weaver said nothing. Her set jaw and steel stare told him all he needed to know. Undaunted, Carter leaned in close and spoke calmly, so that only she could hear. "Would you like me to tell them about the bike lock I found over an hour ago, or would you?" He had expected an argument but, surprisingly, she remained quiet, her eyes registering uncertainty.

"I'm going," he repeated, and left the room to get his coat and a medical bag.


	7. Life, Love and Loss

Title : The Puppeteer  
Author: John Daily

See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Author's Comments.

**"The Puppeteer" **

**Chapter Seven – Life, Love and Loss **

Costança lay in agony for what seemed an eternity. She was in the middle of a contraction, and was finding it difficult to focus on anything else. Her brother had been fighting with the Americans off and on for what seemed like hours, but Costança hadn't said anything. At first, she had remained silent, scared to answer them, because she was afraid of what Rui might do to them if she interfered, but later on she stayed quiet because the pain was too great to do anything but lay here and try to draw a breath deep enough to distract and satiate.

Now, however, he had gone too far. She had heard the gunshot – in fact, it had startled her so much that she had felt her body actually jerk up off the cot – and she had heard both the man and woman scream. She assumed one of them had been shot but wasn't sure which one. As soon as this contraction passed, she planned to get him to stop. What she hadn't yet figured out, was _how_.

Damn Rui! Damn him for bringing this upon her and her husband! Why hadn't he stayed back in Angola where he belonged? If he had wanted to play soldier so badly, why hadn't he just stayed there to die like one instead of running to her like a coward? She had warned her brother when she moved away that this was going to happen if he continued to play both sides against the middle. She had told him that, sooner or later, one group would discover he had been selling information to both sides and come after him. She had begged him to come with her to America, but he hadn't listened. Costança had loved him then. Now, things were different. Rui was scared and running, and no longer cared who he hurt in order to save himself. Emmanuel was dead, and she was giving birth to his child in this filthy place, instead of in a hospital with her husband at her side.

Crimson pain, bright and hot, flared suddenly inside her, as if the child struggling to free itself from her womb could read her thoughts. She tried to focus on how to stop Rui, but couldn't; the contractions, and the blinding pain they brought, were too strong now. She had thought they were horrible an hour ago; imagine that! Now she could barely breathe through them.

Bleary eyed, she craned her neck to see where Rui was. At the foot of her cot, against the wall, were the Americans, clumped together, lying in blood, unmoving. Could he have killed them both? Had there been a second shot she hadn't heard through her delirium?

The gentle touch on her hair startled her. It was Rui, who had come up behind her, trying to carefully guide her head back onto the cot. A sudden wave of fury ripped through her, expelling from her with an animalistic scream, and she jerked her head away from his hand. He grunted at her and shuffled off again.

God, save her soul! This man was no longer her brother; he was something else now. A murderer. A monster. She felt the tears well up and spill out, and everything she had witnessed and experienced this night engulfed her at once. She had been paralyzed with fear back at the apartment, and crippled here by indecision at the memory of seeing her husband beaten in front of her. How dare Rui act sympathetic toward her now, as if none of this were his fault!

"Costança," he called softly in Portuguese from somewhere behind her, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Not like this."

She felt a wave of nausea hit her, and forced herself to swallow hard, determined to show him nothing. She heard her brother take a few tentative steps toward her. From the floor in front of her feet, she heard someone shift positions and moan.

"It was an accident," Rui said.

"Pig!" she spat back in his language: _Porco! _"You killed my husband! How the hell is that an accident?"

He came upon her quickly, startling her. "He would have turned me in, and you know it! They would have found me, and then _I_ would be dead, and for what?"

She didn't answer.

"I want to make a new life here, like you did, and Emmanuel wouldn't listen to me-"

She cut him off with an icy tone. "Don't you say his name. Don't you _dare_ say his name. He was a good man, and you're a murderer now. You don't _deserve_ to speak his name."

He moved down the side of the cot and into her field of vision. "Quando um não quer, dois não brigam," he replied. _It takes two to begin a fight._

Costança felt the cramp of another contraction beginning, and tried to focus on breathing through it. They were coming faster now, and she was starting to get scared, not only because of the conditions of her birthing room, but because the pain was becoming too intense. Something felt..._wrong_. A sudden sharp pain tore through the cramp, causing her to yelp out loud, and she felt Rui place his hand hesitantly on her arm.

"Costança," he said softly, "my sister." _Minha irma. "_What can I do to help?".

"Take me..to the...hospital," she answeredthrough labored breaths.

"I can't do that yet. I need to figure this all out."

"Then kill yourself," she replied, and the conversation was over.

…...

Costança woke with a start. Rui was still standing over her, watching her with a dull, unfocused gaze. "You're still alive?" she asked, the words thick with disgust. "How long have I been out?"

His eyes fixed on hers for a moment, then he answered, "Three minutes. Maybe less." She could hear the fatigue – no, _defeat_ – in his voice.

"You've killed us all, you know," she said. "Every one of us." _Cada um de nós._ "Including your unborn niece or nephew."

He cast his eyes downward and sighed. "I know," he said. He squatted down, reached out and ran the back of his hand down her face, loosening the strands of hair that had adhered there from her sweat. He brought his other hand up to rest beside her on the cot. In it, he still held the gun. "But I don't know how to end this."

Costança felt repulsed; her skin crawled with his touch, but she struggled to keep her composure. The pain had eased, for now, but God only knew when she would get another chance to try and talk him down. "I've been your sister your whole life, Rui. I know you, and you're _never_ right. Whatever you're thinking, it's not the way."

"I can't go to jail, Cossie," he said, calling her by the name he had given her as a child. "I'd rather die quickly by my own hands than slowly by theirs." His fingers found their way to her chin and he gently lifted it to better see her eyes. "But that's not likely to happen any time soon."

His usage of her childhood nickname brought back unwelcome memories: her at seven years old, him at five, trying to catch pollywogs with their bare hands from the muddy river that ran near their house. Him at ten, her at twelve, beating the tar out of an older boy who had deliberately tripped Rui, skinning both his knees and gashing open his left elbow. All of her life she had protected him, and she had been right to do so; after all, he was her little brother. But, God, what kind of test was this? What evil had she done in her life to deserve this kind of choice? How could she kill her own brother and not damn her and her unborn baby - and the Americans, if they were still alive - to certain death and, with them, her soul? Failing _that_, how could she stop him? How could she convince him to end this the right way, to go get help and turn himself in?

Countless, similar, images flashed by. And another memory now: him at twenty-two, dancing with her at her wedding. Her _wedding_, for God's sake. This man, who would kill her husband, _dancing_ with her at the happiest moment of her life.

Well he could pray for his forgiveness from God; she couldn't give it to him. "You have a choice," she said, fighting to repress this sudden rage she felt. "You can take control of your own fate, or have your life ripped away from you by someone else."

Rui looked at her, but said nothing.

"Rui?" she questioned. "You know there's no way out of this, right? They'll find you, and they won't stop looking until they do." Costança held her gaze on him, willing him to come closer. She had decided: She would not allow herself to lie here any longer and be the victim to his mistakes, pain or no pain. She would draw him in, then tear his throat open with her teeth.

Before she could work out how, another contraction hit her, and she gripped the edges of the cot tightly, clenching her jaw shut. _Not now_, she thought. _ Please God, not now. _She arched her head back, and tried to push through the cramp, hoping it would pass quickly so she could get back to luring him nearer, but an abdominal spasm made her cry out in shock and pain. "God, it hurts so bad!"

Rui stood up. "I'm getting that doctor over here if I have to drag him by his tongue."

"No!" she snapped, gritting her teeth against the pain in an effort to get the words out. He couldn't leave her; she needed him to stay. "I'm...sorry," she said, forcing herself to say what she didn't feel. "Stay, please." Damn him for making her do this. Bearing the pain was difficult enough without have to talk through it, too.

Rui stood over her, watching her private struggle.

"_Please_, Rui. I...I need you."

He remained silent, but squatted back down, took her hand, and waited for the contraction to pass. When it finally had, he spoke. "I love you, Cossie," he said, "and I don't want to go without you."

She drew a couple of cleansing breaths. "What do you mean? Go where?"

"You're right," he said, ignoring her questions. "This is too hard, and you're in too much pain. As am I." He stood up and looked down at her, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against the butt of the gun. "This must end." _Isto tem de acabar._

"Rui," she started, panicked. She was at a loss for words, and she needed to do something._ Now._

"I'm so tired, Cossie. I'm so tired of living with one eye turned over my shoulder, and it will only get worse here." He brought the gun up, barrel pointed at her.

"Rui, wait -"

"I'm sorry," he said, "for everything."

Frantic now, she spat out the first thing that came to her mind. "Kiss me first!" she demanded, surprising even herself.

Rui stood and stared at her, confused by this sudden display of affection.

"Damn it, Rui, you're my brother. At least kiss me before you kill me." Costança's desperate eyes begged him to come closer, but Rui just stood there, watching her. _Please, God,_ she thought, _I'm not through this yet. Why isn't he coming? What is he waiting for? _"Rui?" she asked.

"You're all sweaty," he replied.

She burst out laughing, astonished. He was certainly right, although his timing wasn't great. With Rui, however, it rarely was. "You're an ass," she said, smiling, and held her arms up to him.

He didn't return her smile, but he did kneel down beside her and allowed the embrace.

Costança exhaled heavily, not realizing she had been holding her breath until he had leaned over her. She folded him into her arms, and nuzzled her chin against the nape of his neck, appreciating the heat and life that radiated there. She could feel his jugular pulsate delicately against her cheek, the precious blood within it gushing forward with every beat of his cold heart. The precious blood that she needed to spill. Softly, cautiously, she let her lips brush against him.

And then another memory hit her: him at two years of age, her at four, huddled together under a blanket during a thunderstorm. Scared at first, giggling soon after inside their little makeshift tent at the shadows the lightning cast across their faces.

She couldn't do it. Costança buried her face in Rui's neck and began to sob long, anguished wails at him and the world and God and everything that had put her in this awful place, at this awful time. Whatever else he might have become, Rui was still her little brother, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Instead, she held him tight to her and cried, for her and for him, and for all that might have been.

The hitching of her stomach soon gave way to another contraction and, with it, another cramp that started in her lower abdomen, and radiated outward up to her chest, until it seemed that her whole torso was ripping open. She clutched Rui tighter, in fear and sheer agony.

"Oh my God, it's _coming_," she screamed.


End file.
